You, Me and All The Funny Little People
by Kate-Emma
Summary: Complete - One-Shot - Weddings are the funniest things. They seem to attract the strangest people.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own… yet!

You, Me and all of the Funny Little People…

'Weddings are funny things' I mused, my eyes scanning the crowd around me. 'Seem to attract the strangest people.'

I should've known better. In my short time I've attended countless. The extravagant, the small, the odd, the poor and the themed. The best one was an Elvis one. That had been an interesting night. Either way they all turned out the same – someone would pass out on the dance floor, a child would cry, a bridesmaid would hook up with the groom's best man and the mother-in-law would tearfully admit she'd never really hated her now daughter-in-law and that she looked so beautiful walking up the aisle (or wherever she walked up depending on the scene of the wedding) before being led away by the groom's father who would simply shake his head safe in the knowledge that by the time the happy couple returned from their honeymoon his wife would hate the bride again.

Of course before that was the stress, envy, cake eating and present-giving (it didn't matter how many others before had given hard candy wrapped in doilies, they never failed to disappoint, at least two packets finding themselves torn open and discarded on the floor of the dance zone by the night's end – usually pooling around that same passed out figure).

"I don't like the cupcake idea," a voice to my left said. I glanced up to see the groom's best-friend chatting to the figure beside him, the groom's old high school mate. "What's wrong with traditional wedding cake?"

"Mate, it's fruit cake covered in marzipan. That's disgusting."

"Yeah, well, least it's traditional." Schmuck number one returned.

"Would you two shut up?" The redheaded bridesmaid glared at them. "The groom's about to do his speech."

I shot her a brief look but she didn't catch my eye, enthralled by the groom who stood before them, microphone in hand gazing adoringly at the woman beside him. I turned my attention to them in quiet anticipation of the usual – my high school love, met at a kebab shop on the way home from the pub, she bumped into me at a Rovers game; I've heard them all. Of course I'm yet to hear one that beats my personal favourite – I threw up on her shoes at a nightclub. Classic!

Of course the speeches were immediately followed by the first dance usually to something soppy like Barbara Streisand or some junk like that. The couple before me went with a classic cheesy love ballad – Hero by that Spanish twat whose name I don't recall. Watching them is enough to make the hairs on the bad of your neck stand on end if your romantic, or make your stomach turn if your not. What is it with weddings that just seem to attract such things?

"You look deep in thought," a cheery voice to my right caught my attention and I glanced at the redheaded bridesmaid now flashing me a smile. "What's going on?"

"Enjoying yourself?" I asked, purposely avoiding the question. She'd caught me, what was I thinking? That I hated weddings? That they were the extravagant façade of a faded institution? A ceremony to honour something that no longer held any real power? Who could really believe in marriage with the large amount of easy divorces and extramarital affairs out there?

"I was until you started avoiding my questions," she returned, her tone playful but her eyes asking for more than a simple shrug-off. "You should be happier, it's Paul's big day. You know how long he and Jemima have been planning this and so far its gone off without a hitch."

"If you put aside my drunk uncle, Jemima's horrible grandfather and the fact my mother still hates my new sister-in-law." I'm typically pessimistic; I offer no apologies for that.

She just smiled, giving a light shrug. "That's weddings for you."

"I know; this is the tenth I've been to in the last 20 years." Oh the joys of having a large family. While I have only one brother and one sister, Paul is two years my junior and Kaitlyn three, I do have countless cousins. "They all end the same. I told you the checklist before we came. How many so far?"

She pulled a small sheet of paper from her list. "So far according to plan. All we need now is a crying child and…" she stopped. "Wait, where's Oscar?"

"Mum has him. He needed the bathroom again. My cousin will only go so far, she is only eighteen, so she gave him to mum." I explained, detailing how I'd left my son with my baby obsessed cousin. She's eighteen but thankfully without a boyfriend otherwise my aunt would be worried. Plus she's very good with Oscar. "Which is why you haven't yet heard any abuse about Jemima's dancing abilities yet."

"Was your mum this bad at our wedding?"

I chuckled. "Worse; because she actually likes you. Ever seen my mother crying and spluttering in Polish?" She shook her head. "It's ugly, I wouldn't recommend it."

"Mummy!" My son appearing at the end of the table, asking for his mother to pick him up, ended our discussion. With one last smile my confidant turned and picked him up, putting him on her lap. He immediately took the chance to poke a single finger into his mother's cupcake before putting the finger in his mouth and then soon after into his nose. At four now Oscar was still a charming little boy. Millie pulled the finger from his nose, wiped it on his pants and then stuck it in his pocket. "Mummy, I wanna dance, Babcia won't dance with me."

Millie picked him up, holding him in the crook of her arm, despite the fact he was growing just a little too big for it now. "Come on, let's dance." She skirted past me to the dance floor, her long orange bridesmaids gown trailing behind her. As they got there a small girl on the other side of the room started to cry. I grabbed the list where Millie had left it and ticked it off. Just one more to go and that was…

Another level of crying was added as a figure sat down next to me. "Oh Max, isn't it beautiful? She's so beautiful." I glanced sideways at my mother who had filled Millie's vacated seat. Tears poured down her cheeks. "I should tell her she's so beautiful, that I'm sorry for saying such horrible things."

I sighed, ticking the box and putting the paper down before standing up and waving to grab my father's attention. Weddings. They're funny things…

-

For the wedded, the newly-wedded and the blissfully ignorant of the sheer horrors of weddings (but aren't they fun?)…


End file.
